


Bittersweet Lullaby

by Teaandchips



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: DARK DARK DARK, Damon being a dad af, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Multi, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, don't hurt me for this y'all, giuseppe deserves all the fucking hate, jesus i can't state how dark this is, young damon salvatore, young stefan salvatore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 03:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaandchips/pseuds/Teaandchips
Summary: Crystalline eyes flickering between his darling's and her soft, rose petal lips. It's sinning, he knows it. It's a barrier that if they cross he knows the bridge is burned.Beyond the point of no return.





	1. Lavendar

Lilian sang softly, cradling her newest joy within her arms. The little girl gurgled happily, causing her to smile. She leans until their noses bumped, whispering her song to her. The creak of the nursery door alerted her to the presence of her other darlings. Mellow ocean gaze catching the sight of Damon's little fingers peeping round the edge of the wood work, a tuft of Stefan's hair not far below it.

"You can come in, boys," if her only curse was the burden of curious sons; then she was a lucky woman indeed. 

Damon enters looking sheepish, his younger brother clinging to his pinky finger. A toddler and well, Stefan was barely above a babe himself, and now her. Damon's bumbling feet bring her little handsome duo closer. Each taking a side of her rocker, peering into her embrace at the fresh little face bundled up there. 

Damon's little lips part, clumsy baby fingers moving to stroke his sister's fringe of hair. Lilian's smile grows, her gaze catching her second born and giving a little laugh. To his credit, Stefan gives a least a lingering look before crinkling his nose at her. 

"You'll grow to love her, my love. Just as Damon learned to love you," she murmurs. A dainty hand moving to tickle at Stefan's chubby little cheek, he rewards her with a little titter of a giggle. Her fingers soon finding her first born, smoothing his curling raven whorls. Her lips part to say something more when the parlor door slams, her arm hugging her daughter closer. 

"Get back, both of you," her voice is firm and strained. Damon grabs Stefan's hand again, coaxing him to sit with him behind the rocker. Crystalline gaze locked on the nursery door, Giuseppe enters foggily. Drunk once more. He squints at her for a beat, before looking at the bundle in her arms. Glassy eyes shift to and fro carefully, as though looking at something completely unfathomable. 

"You had it," it's a statement not a question. Lilian nods at him, taxed lips pursed as though she's smelled something foul. Giuseppe waves a hand through the air as though he's talking, but nothing leaves him. He tries once more, his lips parted, yet there's still not a sound. 

A calloused hand paws at his face before he tries for a final time. "No one was sent to fetch me."

"You weren't needed, darling." Her tone is sharp, enough for her irritable husband to squint calculatingly at her.

"Well, you named it, I presume." He arches a brow at her, his boots scraping the floor as he lean back against the wooden door frame.

"Yes, her name -"

"A good strong name, I presume." His tone is implying something, Lilian feels her brow twitch with the superhuman effort not to scream at him. 

"It's Elizabeth Marian," she says it the way one would say 'checkmate' after a particularly cunning play. 

Her husband scowls, showing his age more than ever. The wrinkles along his brow seemed to deepen with the movement, his arms folding over his chest. He sighs on a hot, dragon's breath that smells of ale. "It's a girl." 

"Yes," Lilian tastes blood on her tongue from the pressure of her teeth.

"Can't carry the name," he grumbles to himself.

"No, but your sons can," if she could sting him with her words she would. 

He makes a noncommittal noise before he spits into the corner, leaving her to sneer at his backside. If she could strike him with one good lick she would, but she can't. She catches her boys out of the corner of her eye, Damon inspires a laugh out of his brother. 

She gazes down at her daughter, who despite the noise of her father, is sound asleep. And for a moment, Lilian allows herself to bask in the warmth of her children and allows that traitorous thought of happiness creep into her head.

 


	2. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Elizabeth!" His voice thunders through the yard, shaking the birds from the trees. She jumps, her tiny grip on his hand tightening significantly. Her warm oak gaze catching her brother's, and Damon squeezes her hand back gently.
> 
> "Liza, you better go," Stefan encourages softly. He kisses her little hand before turning her toward the estate doors, and giving her back a little push. She crosses the yard slowly, as though drawing out her freedom before the flight to prison.

They swing her between them, the autumn breeze pinking her chubby cheeks. Her laugh ringing through the air like little church bells. Her shoe clad feet kicking at the sky, before crashing back to the leaves below. Damon grips the basket tightly as her kicks propel them forward with a light yank, Stefan laughing at his worried features. To which the older rolls his eyes whilst setting it down. He spreads the knit, smiling as Stefan spins her; both falling onto their behinds. Elizabeth kisses his cheek, her attention soon turning to her other brother; where he's unpacking their lunch. 

"Da, what'd you bring?" She shifts to stand on her knees, trying to see over his shoulder. 

"Never you mind, darling," he replies indulgently. 

Stefan pulls her into his lap, plucking a leaf and giving it to her. His fingers comb through her hair, humming a song Mother used to sing before she was sent away. Elizabeth turns the fallen leaf between her fingers. Fingertips tracing the veins of it before growing restless and turning to face her brother. 

"Steffie?"

"Yes, my darling?" 

Both were a great bit fond of her, entirely smitten that is.

"Have you given me this leaf like a ring?" Her question is serious enough, warm gaze studying the leaf in her little hands.

"A ring?" He smiles at her, pushing an unruly ringlet behind her ear. Damon turns, his head tilting as his interest is also taken.

She falls backwards onto the knit, her arms outstretched on either side of her. One hand shifting to hold the leaf up to the sky, waving it to cover the cloudy sunshine. She sighs as though both her brothers were being a terrible burden on her higher power of thinking. 

"Like in the stories Mummy would tell, about princes and princesses," realization dawns on both their faces. And to his credit, Damon tries to conceal his rather elegant snort. She rises to crinkle her nose at him, and he kisses it for good measure. 

"You think I mean to marry you?" Stefan smiles softly, ever the white knight. 

"Well, why else would you give me a leaf?" She furrows her brow at him, stroking the fragile skin of it softly. 

Stefan rises and grabs her hands, whirling her around with him. Her laughs brightening the very sunshine itself. Her brother bends so they're eye level, his fathomless forest gaze studying every aspect of her features as though he were trying to memorize her. "Of course, I mean to marry you," he indulges quietly. Damon's laughter greets him loud and clear, to which he shushes. 

"No other lady is good enough. Why, you're practically a Princess." She gasps at him, hands covering her mouth as her feet do a little tap dance.  

Stefan bows, and his little sister does her best curtsy which is a rather clumsy affair. And he sweeps her into a dance, encouraging her to stand on his feet. "Prince Stefan, I do believe that lovely Princess owes me a dance," Damon offers a hand before gathering her up in his arms and smothering her face in kisses. 

"Elizabeth!" His voice rumbles across the lawn like thunder, shaking the birds from the trees. She starts in his embrace, slipping from Damon's arms. Her warm oak gaze catching her brother's, and her eldest brother kisses her crown.

"Liza, you better go," Stefan encourages softly. He kisses her little hand before turning her toward the estate doors, and giving her back a little push. She crosses the yard slowly, as though drawing out her freedom before the flight to prison.

She glances back at her brothers, the youngest smiles and the older nods toward the door. She crosses through past Giuseppe's legs, while Damon watches calculatingly. He's unable to decipher the look on his father's face before the door creaks shut.

It hours before both see her again, they had saved her some cold chicken and egg. Greeted at the door by Marie the maid servant, telling them that their father was currently indisposed and had ordered all the servants to bustle out of his way; and that both boys would do well to do the same. 

The sun is setting when their father steps outside, pipe in hand. Heavy booted footsteps carrying him toward the Lockwood estate, for a drink no doubt. Damon wastes little time tearing through the house, checking the parlor and both their rooms while Stefan checks the kitchen and sewing room. 

Damon rounds the hall and locks eyes with his brother, Stefan raises both empty hands as though nothing can be done.

"Well, she must be here, Stefan."

"Maybe she -"

Damon shushes him, crystalline gaze turning to the nursery door. There's a quiet sound, soft as a field mouse, like a delicate sniffle.

His hand turns the embossed handle carefully, greeted with an empty room. Stefan's lips part, and the eldest shakes his head in warning. He treads softly to the closet, opening it slowly. And there's a ball of muddled up clothing, Mother's old gowns. 

Damon kneels, parting them to find sweat soaked ringlets of deep bark. "My darling?" he murmurs, a question in the least. She shakes her little head, his hands tugs her into his lap, dresses and all. 

"Let Da' see, darling," he's trying to root through the cacoon she's raveled herself in. He gets layers closer and a deep burgundy has soaked into one floral pattern. "Stefan." 

The younger locks eyes with him, now two sets of hands peeling back layers until they reach her skin. A lash across her thigh has bled, the other seems to have escaped the worst blow. Damon draws her to stand, Stefan's hands cupping her cheeks while the eldest looks over her marks. 

"It was his belt, wasn't it?" Stefan's voice is strained, trying to look for all the world like he wasn't angry. 

She nods, whining in the back of her throat when Damon lifts the back of her dress to find the bruises littering the base of her spine. Tears are spilling steadily out of her eyes, her tiny hands balling to rub at them. 

"Come, let's get a bath." The oldest turns her to face him, lifting her gingerly. He carries her to his room, asking his brother to pump some water and heat it over the fire. 

He kneels at her side, untying her ruined dress. He draws it over her head, and studies her over. His jaw ticks, coppery blood flavor filling his mouth and he thinks he might be sick. 

Fingerprints. There are fingerprints along her chest, littering her skin like freckles. It's obvious that she wasn't just hit, she was grabbed, groped. There's a hint of bile at the back of his throat. 

"Oh, my love." He pulls her to him, sinking to his behind on the woodwork. Her little arms go around his neck, her face buried in the crook where his neck meets his shoulders. His hand runs over her back delicately, his lips pressing kisses to her hair. 

Stefan enters with the water, pouring it into the metal tub before taking in his siblings. His bottom lip quivers and it parts, Damon notices he's been crying. He holds out an arm, and Stefan comes to fold himself against her back. His forehead against his brother's collarbone, Damon folds his arms around them both. 

He never thought he'd be wondering how to keep them safest, and in that moment he missed mother more than anything.


	3. Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crystalline eyes flickering between his darling's and her soft, rose petal lips. It's sinning, he knows it. It's a barrier that if they cross he knows the bridge is burned. 
> 
> Beyond the point of no return.

She sings, a glorious sound like the larks and songbirds all clamouring to still and listen; to model their own songs after hers. Damon watches her like Orpheus must have watched his darling Eurydice. Her fingertips run over the petals of flowers, touching each one with her song, with her heart. Her dress is blue, his favorite on her, brings out the deep mahogany of her hair. He can't hide his smile at the sight of her bare feet, ever the little fairy, his sister. 

"Brother, what are you-" the middle Salvatore clambers with all the grace of a  deaf mule. 

"Hush, Stefan. We mustn't spook the Druid, she'll run away." His tone is teasing, a mere whisper from their place behind an oak. 

Her humming increases, only to drown them out he supposes. She always was quickest to the draw. 

"My Darling," Stefan puts on the air of the eldest. Boot clad feet sidestepping the tree to bow in a most obnoxious manner. 

Damon's boot finds his brother's ass rather quickly, jolting him forward into his sister's path. She laughs like little church bells, fingers covering her rosy lips. 

"My Love," she replies sweetly. She leans to kiss his cheek, deft fingers tucking a bit of lavendar into his waistcoat pocket. 

Damon, never to be shone up, comes to their side placing his cheek on display expectantly. She indulges him, as she always does, placing a kiss over each eyelid. She tucks a bit of lavendar into his pocket as well, fingertips smoothing over his cheekbones in a caress as though she were smoothing out wrinkles. 

"Stefan, who might this lovely young woman be? You're courting her I expect?" 

"Why yes, I think I may, brother."

Her eyes roll, which she does enough that she truly believes one of these days they'll pop out of her head. Petite frame breezes by them, ignoring their frivolity to look very intently at the daisies.

"I am no woman, just as you two are no man. I'm only age thirteen, I'm aloud the childhood still, brothers dear." Her tone is matter of fact, and neither brother is particularly paying attention. 

They're whispering conspiringly to one another, causing her to turn and study them before stomping over in a very 'Elizabeth' manner. 

"And what are you hens clucking about?" Both look at her as though they were two fat cats caught slurping the cream. Both gazes look to the sky in an obnoxious and faux manner of innocence. 

"Nothing, my love," the middle Salvatore kicks at the grass with his boot. And the eldest is doing a very bad job of looking innocent, his gaze on hers and a ghost of a smirk curling one side of his lips. 

"Just that you're the most gorgeous lady in all of town," Damon murmurs coolly, rocking back on his heels. 

She knows then it's the truth, both of them enjoy ruffling her feathers too much for it to be anything but. Her eyes roll again, a well practiced motion. Then there's this smile creeping onto her lips, the kind that tells Damon that she wears his expressions too well.

"Ah, there. Your maid in shining armor, loves. Here to collect your time," she gives a giggle into her hand. 

There are matching groans as both are greeted with the sight of a bustling Bessy strolling their way. Well, stroll seemed to pleasant a word for it, perhaps marched or stampeded. Much like a large elephant. The woman did tend to swell when she was frustrated, not unlike a pompous, old toad.

"Boys! Go into market and get some things for me!" Her tone is more shrill than either brother remembers, both looking to their sister for solace and finding her gone down the yard. Still humming as though she's oblivious to their pain.

 

"Do you think she'll read to us when we get back?" Stefan kicks pebbles along the horse worn trail into market, his forest gaze looking to his older brother. 

"Read what?"

"That one she likes where she does the voices," the middle Salvatore waves his hands through the air as though he's speaking perfect English. 

"Shakespeare?" The eldest supplies, smiling amusedly. 

"Romeo and Juliet is my favorite." 

"Her Juliet is stunning," Damon ruffles his brother's hair. His smile bright in a spring air, booted feet joining in on the kicking of dust and pebble.

There's the bark of a dog, and soon the bustle of people surrounds them. The sun wanes as they gather a particularly long list of items, tea leaves, tobacco, corn and other crops. Whispers surround the brothers, of a drunken father, of the eldest whose looking more and more good looking, and of the sister who is bound to marry good.

Both leave with wicker baskets full, falling into easy camaraderie. Their shoes dust heavy with the back and forth pass of a particular rock. They pass their Father on winding path to the estate doors, he grunts at them as he passes. On his way to the taverne, no doubt. 

 Stefan breathes a sigh as they walk into the kitchen, moving to stoke the dying fire in the place. Both placing their burdens onto the table, Damon's fingers finding the note left by head maid. In a small, elegant script it stated that their father had requested the staff leave early shortly after she had sent them out and that she would collect the parcels early the next morning with a thank you following. 

Something old and horridly familiar twisted around Damon's heart like a thorn riddled vine, dropping his stomach to his toes. "Brother, read this," he hands the middle Salvatore the letter. Stefan starts at the concern in his tone, reading it the fastest Damon's ever seen him read anything. 

"Damn him," Stefan's tone slices through the air like a winter's frost. His booted feet tearing through the house, Damon's following quickly. 

Both are pale, the same kind of desperation alight in their eyes. They've checked everywhere, the parlor, the nursery, their rooms, her room and - the realization knocks the wind out of Damon's chest. Their parent's room. Stefan isn't as quick on the uptake, running after his brother only to collide with his broad back at the doorway. 

Damon is deathly still, pale hands clenched into fists at his side kickstarted into movement as though shunted when he hears a breathy whine. Stefan makes a helpless sound like someone had a hand around his throat, choked off and stricken.

She's there, tangled in sheets, the cluster at her waist is burgundy. Her deep, mahogany hair is tangled in whorls of knots, her arms are wrapped around her upper body as though she's trying for the life of her to give herself a _hug_. She's as bare as a babe, tears running down her porcelain cheeks like rain over a glass doll. Like Aphrodite broken.

Damon's hands shake as they find her skin, and he doesn't know what to do. _He doesn't know what to do_. As if moved by some invisible puppeteer he's drawing the sheets away, layer after layer. And it's too similar to his mother's dresses and the little girl scared in the wardrobe. Her thighs are stained with blood, dried and crumbling against her skin like brush strokes on a blank canvas. And he barely registers anything above the thrum of blood in his ears and this flatline beep that's pulsing steady in some horrible deafening roar. Stefan's helping him, and thank god, he's actually speaking, actually saying something to makeup for the stone that's set under Damon's skin. 

She's freed and trembling like a fledgling in his grip, and he's taking in the damage to her beautiful skin. There's a series of crescent marks above her left breast and bruises on her on her hips. Stefan is stroking a hand over her hair and whispering comforting things and Damon still isn't fucking saying anything because his tongue has turned to ash in his mouth. But he's maneuvering her into his arms, rocking back and forth with her pressed to him. He can't find a thing to do except press kisses to her hair and fight back every feeling that's threatening to drown him. Stefan's got his face in his hands next to him, and there's got to be something he can say or do to _fix_ this.

But there isn't.

"Let's get you cleaned up, my darling. Da'll help you, Stefan can find something for supper, yes?" He fumbles over the words, his voice quavering. Stefan lifts his head, jaw ticking as he nods and moves from the room. 

Damon unravels her from his embrace, his hands finding her cheeks. One pushing a ringlet of mahogany back behind her ear. 

"I'm going to go get some water for your bath, alright, my love?" He turns to go, but she grips at his sleeve like she used to do as a child. 

"...don't leave me, please.." It's the first thing she's spoken since they found her. Her voice hoarse, and Damon clenches his eyes because he knows it's from her screams. 

He nods, stripping off his waistcoat to get  to his shirt. Calloused fingers dressing her delicately, as one would a baby. His shirt swamping her smaller figure, his hand clasping hers as they travel downstairs. Stefan, clever as ever, has the water ready. His forest hues darkened with anguish, most likely feelings the same self blame as Damon currently does. He hands his brother the water, and kisses his sister on the temple before turning back to finding supper. 

Damon fills the metal tub in his room, because he refuses to take her anywhere near his parent's room. He catches her eyes as he unties the shirt, she's still crying, steadily as the river. His gaze roves over her, her flared hips, developing breasts, the elegant wing of her collarbones. Unlike their Mother she is larger, curvier, more filled out.

He thinks on the best way to bathe her, before settling into the water clothed, chest and feet bared. Settling back with her between his legs, his hands guiding the cloth over her skin. She turns to face him, the water rippling at her movements. 

"I bit him," she murmurs. The eldest Salvatore gazing up at her, his head tilting expectantly; waiting for her to continue. 

"I bit him on the arm, he bled more than I did in the least..." Her pause is contemplative, delicate little fingers tracing the veins on his arm. "I wish him dead."

"As do I, my love." Damon watches her plush bottom lip quiver as fresh tears roll over.

"What a horrible thing to wish."

"It's only fair for what he's done to you, Elizabeth." He never says her name, always 'Liza or El. But never Elizabeth. Her beautiful, dark eyes find him, and his thumb runs over her bruised lips.

"He kissed my skin, Damon. I can't.. Get it off. Scrub it off, please." She's finding the cloth and rubbing furiously at her neck, Damon's hands gripping her own to halt her. She just stares at him, broken and desperate. 

He shifts closer, large hands ghosting along her hips. One moves to caress her cheek, encouraging her head to tilt. There's a moment, a beat in time where he can practically hear the drumming of their hearts in time with one another. Their breathes syncronized like two little clocks and their chimes. 

His smooth lips brush her skin tentatively, barely a touch. Before he moves again, this time a light press. Her breath quivers, taut like the string of a hunting bow. But she doesn't shrink away. He kisses her again, skin soft and sweet beneath his lips. Once more beneath the line of her jaw, his tongue just barely reaching her to taste. She's just as sweet as cream, he thinks hazily. 

Both shift and their noses brush, her lashes fluttering upward whilst her gaze meets his. Crystalline eyes flickering between his darling's and her soft, rose petal lips. It's sinning, he knows it. It's a barrier that if they cross he knows the bridge is burned. 

**_Beyond the point of no return._ **

His smooth lips test the threshold, ghosting a kiss upon her. Before he gives in and presses his lips to hers fully, she's trembling against him as though a kitten caught in a storm. Large hand flattened on her back, another on her cheek. His lips move against hers, head tilting as his tongue runs the seam of lips. She breathes a shaky sigh, parting just a bit. His tongue shifting forward to greet hers before mapping out her mouth. He's tracing her teeth and coaxing her tongue alongside his own. 

He's no fool, he's kissed a silly maid or two in his youth. And now he feels as though it was a means to an end, a lean forward to this moment in time. They part and she's gulping in a breathe like they were two wild children running through the trees. 

"I apologize I don't know-"

"Again," she breathes softly. Just barely a sound, her gentle fingers smoothing over his chest and over the slope of his neck. "Make me feel like that again."

"Like what?" His smooth lips are brushing hers again, hands swelling around her. Her petite frame somehow ever closer to his, body in his lap. 

"Loved." She murmurs, accepting his kiss again. Her tongue moves shyly into his mouth, wringing a unbidden groan from him. She breaks the kiss with a gasp, looking over him as though she's hurt him. 

"I do love you, silly girl." He replies earnestly, a smile spreading softly over his lips. 

"I know, as I do you." 

He's kissing her again as he can't seem to stop himself. Even daring to lower his hand far enough to press into the dimples at the bass of her spine. She's against him now, water soaked chest against his. Her nipples brushing along his skin and creating little goose pimples in their wake. They part, and he simply gazes at her. A calloused finger playing with a certain ringlet of her hair. 

"This isn't proper, is it?" She questions quietly, Damon's fingers dallying along her back and over her abdomen carefully. His gaze darkens with something unknown, she believes it's sadness. 

He runs his tongue over his lips, her gaze following the movement carefully. "It certainly isn't, but neither is what he's done to you, love."

"Then I think I'm aloud this..." Her pause is loaded with seriousness, the eldest Salvatore's fingers moving to caress her lips. "This happiness." 

"I'm inclined to believe so as well," he replies before placing a kiss over each eyelid gently, with all the care in the world.


End file.
